Room In Out
by Stonecrusher7
Summary: A little short story twist...mixture of Lunch at the Gotham Cafe and other random stories...


Well, hello there. Thanks for stopping by, this might turn out to be a rather strange ride (It was for me, at least).

I happen to be a huge fan of Stephen King; his genius is unparalleled when it comes to modern/psychological horror. Aside from his novels, I find myself

delving into the huge and delicious pieces of short stories he creates for brief entertainment and trauma of the soul. Short stories might not be so popular, but they

are classics and a great skill that he has been able to master. Anyway, I was reading Everything's Eventual (his most recent short story collection) and I found myself

in my Creative Literature class with an assignment. This is what came out after 53 minutes of surrendering my mind completely to random creativity. I guess it's a mixture of a whole bunch of short stories I've read. Mostly, it reminds me of Lunch at the Gotham Cafe and Quitters Inc. Hope you all enjoy it, although it might be a bit disturbing...but come on...anything based off of Stephen King's creations cannot be normal.

Room In Out

"And then she hit me. And that's why I don't like women anymore".

That's what I told my psychiatrist on 42nd Street in Manhattan. And it wasn't my best day, either. It was hot and damp and I didn't like the idea of being stuck on the forty-third floor of a damn building. I know he expected me to have a longer story, or maybe even a shorter one, but that's all I had to say. I know he was trying to act like it meant nothing; writing stuff down on his dumb notepad and neither shaking his head nor nodding. I clenched my teeth and closed my fists, suppressing my urge to get up and strike him until he was coughing up blood. God, the anger! I hated her, I hated him, I hated everyone and I liked it.

"How do you feel about that?" he asked stupidly as he took out his letter-opener to open up that letter that the damn lawyer had sent to him, with all the information about me. Those bastards, getting into my private life. Collecting all that information about me and then spreading it around like it was a reality TV show.

I laughed, and it almost sounded like it wasn't me. I heard myself and the voice sounded like it belonged to someone else; some maniac living under one of these New York City bridges or subways. But the absurdity and ridiculousness of his question left me with no choice than to roar out in pure hilarity. I saw he wasn't amused at all. He wasn't upset either, and it was his damned indifference what made me hate him. But if he really wanted to play games of apathy, then I'd play along. I laughed a bit more, my brief joviality slowly subsiding- partly out of lack of amusement, partly out of embarrassment.

I suddenly put on a serious face, "How do I feel about what?"

"About not liking women."

"I feel fucking good about it, that's why I kill them," I said with an indifferent shrug.

This time he did look up, with a skeptical raised eyebrow. I had to contain myself and keep from laughing. I won; beat the bastard at his own fucking game. What now? I watched as he looked at me intently, trying to read me or somehow understand me. I didn't like that. Didn't like it one bit.

"Don't you look at me like that! Don't you dare judge me! What do you know about anything? You don't know shit about me!" I suddenly started yelling; letting out more of the overflowing anger I'd tried to hold in since this morning. Too bad my nonchalant act didn't hold up, which meant I was definitely going either into the slammer or the loony bin. But what the hell, I didn't care anymore. This guy was really annoying me, and I found him almost as irritating as Lisa.

"Tell me, Dawson. Do you get any satisfaction out of seeing these women dead after you kill them? Or is it the process of killing them itself that gives you a high?" he asked, going back to his apathetic tone.

But there was a glint in his eyes that seemed almost amused. _I can read your thoughts, Dawson, _it seemed to say, _and I know you're trying hard to keep up but you can't. Just like Larry, the dog. You can't keep up, babe…you can't keep up babe. And I said your name, Dawson. Dawson? Babe? You there, babe?_

It was as if he'd found the door. He'd found the fucking door to my mind, just like Lisa had, and all the damn voices were in it too, and it made me furious. How dare he? Who the hell was he to read me and invade me like that? He had no right! No right, whatsoever. But he didn't stop, he kept talking like a dumb tape recorder, and I couldn't even tune him out but I couldn't understand what he was saying either. And then that look on his face; like he didn't care but he had that damn mocking twinkle in his eyes. Like I was naked before him. And he wouldn't shut up. His lips weren't moving but he wouldn't shut up.

I screamed and put my hands on my ears, trying to shut him out, but it only got louder.

_Dawson, come over here. Make love to me, darling. Please, just this one last time. Before we all die. Because we will die tomorrow, Dawson. Tomorrow is the day. If all the souls could be sacrificed then there would be no need for the gates to be opened. Kiss me. Damn it Dawson, make love to me!_

He was now looking around everywhere, suddenly not sure of what to do, calling out my name and telling me to calm down. But I was going insane, yelling and I could feel tears running hotly down my face, burning the skin beneath them and demanding space and total control over me.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay, Dawson. Calm down, now. Let's talk about it," he said quietly, suddenly next to me. And I knew all professional objectivity was gone and he was looking at me like he was concerned. He had his hand on my arm; a firm grip that slowly brought me back to reality, and I heard myself quieting down almost distantly.

"You don't give a shit about me, so don't act like you care. You're getting paid for this, so I know you don't give a shit, you fucking hypocrite," I said, resentfully, but softly.

"Dawson, I am concerned about you. I'm here to help you, but you gotta try and help yourself. This is your freedom that's at stake. Me and you….me and you have to work together as a team and get through this. It's not about just you, it's also about me and my peace of mind. I don't want to see you locked up in a cell, or worse…in your own mind…" he finished that, trailing off as he looked at me, like a father looking down at his son. And I knew he meant it.

I looked up, pausing my fiddling with my fingers, and looked at him, trying to see if he was really telling the truth. And damn it, I didn't know why I needed to find reassurance of his concern in his face, but I wanted it. It was as if that alone could give me the freedom I needed.

He was serious, and I know he hadn't been lying about it. And then I thought of all the possibilities. I could get out freely. Go back to Lisa and make love to her all day and night. I could forget about how much I'd hated her. Sure, I could forgive her, couldn't I? Maybe the doc had a wife or a girl and we could all go out and shit. I was getting happy; optimistic, even. Damn it, maybe the bastard could be trusted 

after all. Maybe he'd make things work out for me. Yeah, I could make things work. He said we could work it all out if I was willing to help, and damn it I was.

And then he did the weirdest crap. I swear to God it was the weirdest shit ever. Fuck, I don't even know what to think about it anymore.

He kissed me.

The bastard kissed the shit outta me.

I remember thinking, when I first saw him, that he looked rusty. But then, his lips felt real soft and he had this minty taste mixed with tobacco in his mouth. I'll tell you the truth, I'm not a fag or anything, and I knew it was wrong, what he was doing. But I liked it. I mean, it felt good. It felt real good, especially when he started touching me and groping me _there, _if you know what I mean. He was really working his way into my mouth and shit, and I didn't even try to stop him. I guess I was too shocked to do anything. I mean, I didn't do anything at all, I just sat there, numbed by whatever strange thing was happening.

And then he put his hand on my neck, pulling me towards him and crap, and that made me mad. Who the hell did he think he was to force me closer to him? I'd given him enough fucking space on my personal territory.

I could tell he was really into it. He started breathing like a freak.

"Come on, Dawson, work with me here. I know you like it," he panted like a fucking pervert.

And I knew it was enough. I'd let it get too far and I was disgusted. Shit, why had I even let it get this far? I knew I should have stopped him the minute he started…just like Lisa. And the voices wouldn't forgive me. I knew they were shaking their heads. _Oh, you're gonna get it now, Dawsy…you little fag….you sinning little homo…Make love to me, Dawson, please…mercy! Don't do it, Dawson! Larry the dog…Larry. Gone. Baby and all. Bark for me, darling, one last time, Larry. Do it for momma. _They'd started already, and they were angry. I knew that for a fact.

And the bastard wouldn't stop, even though I was cursing and yelling at him to stop. No, he wouldn't have any of it, he just went for my fly and started to open it. And I felt ashamed, furious and helpless at the same time.

"You know you hate women just as much as I do. And it's ok. We don't need them, Larry, we got each other," he said as he looked up, trying to open the zipper and grinning up at me.

Larry. How the hell did he know about Larry? What the fuck was going on? That was it. I lost it and I hated him. I hated him more than anything and anyone I had ever hated.

"What the hell do you know about anything?! You rotting fag! You don't know shit about Larry. And I'm not Larry, so don't call me Larry, you hear me?!" I said as I suddenly stood up, and I heard myself crying, like a fucking baby, and I hated myself for it. I wanted to kill him. And I was going to. I looked around for 

something to strike him with, but even if I didn't find anything, I knew I could kill him with my own bare hands. And then I saw it. That shining piece of flat and sharp metal; that letter opener he'd used to open up that letter the damn judge or my horse trader had sent to him containing all my information about my trial and crap. I could picture it all: stabbing him to death with that little piece of nothing, and something at the same time. Funny how humans create things to make life easier…but they're also easier to end that same life. Ha-ha.

I went for it and he saw it. He stared up at me. He'd fallen to the floor now and he was looking at me a bit perplexed and scared, as if he hadn't expected my reaction and the fact that I'd gone for the letter opener. But then that confused look was gone and a smile spread about his lips.

"Aww come on, now," he started as he slowly got up, "we don't have to go through all that, Dawson. You're a grown man. You don't have to deal with your problems that way. I'm the only one that can help you out…and if you kill me….well, there's no hope for you, and I'll be up in heaven watching you; and I'd hate to see you suffering," he said slowly and apprehensively. But he'd gotten pretty close to me, as if he weren't afraid of what I might do to him with the sharp object in my hand.

"Get away from me or I swear I'll stab you in the eye," I threatened, trying to sound like I was in charge. But my voice betrayed me because it came out all shaky and high-pitched; all in a hoarse whisper.

He chuckled, "Dawson, give me a chance to make it all better, you won't regret it." He started touching me again, and his hands felt a lot like Lisa's. I hated it, but…I didn't not like it. And I closed my eyes as I thought about her and all the good times we had at that place we used to go to up in Baldwin.

He took advantage of that and took the knife-like tool away from me, throwing it across the room.

"Who's in charge now, Dawson?" he asked as he laughed in pure mockery.

I was furious; at him and at myself for letting my guard down. I didn't know what was going on with me. It'd never been like that with women; I always made sure I was in charge and it was easy to get rid of them. But now…now it was different and I hated it because I wasn't used to this.

He had retreated a bit away from me, seeing the anger in my eyes; knowing he could probably take me on but not wanting to take any chances. But I walked closer to him as he kept backing away.

He also kept saying meaningless shit that I didn't care about and that only made me angrier.

"What? What are you gonna do, Dawsy? You know you can't kill me…you love me. Just like you loved Lisa and just like you loved Larry," he said with an ugly and nasty grin on his face.

And that did it. I exploded once again. "What? What the fuck did you just say? You bastard! You rotten piece of nothing!" I yelled as I pushed him hard and he fell to the ground once again. He'd get up and I'd push him again- harder and harder each time. And every time he got up he'd laugh, louder and louder with that annoying mocking twinkle in his eyes.

But I didn't care anymore. Hell, I was smiling myself, especially when I saw him turning around and noticing we had reached the big glass window that went around the office and he looked down forty three floors down to a crowded Manhattan street. He looked down and then at me- he did that about three times and his eyes were wide with terror because he knew I'd do it. I was a murderer and I would do it without so much as a second thought.

"Dawson—'' he started, but I didn't let him finish.

"It's Larry, remember?" I said with a smirk. And then I pushed him real hard. I don't know where I got the strength to push him hard enough to break the glass with him, but I did. And I saw the glass shattering instantly upon the impact and his body flew out almost mystically, staying suspended on air for almost a whole five seconds and then going down fast, leaving only the sound of a desperate and terrified cry and the glass pieces dropping to the floor one by one.

I didn't look, but I waited to hear the sound.

_Thud. _Simple as that.

There it was. Music to my ears. And I sang to it as I walked away, hands on pockets, and made my way out of the office. I heard a distant female scream, followed by another- probably male- and I had to laugh out loud. It all reminded me of the Catcher in the Rye for some reason. Don't ask me why, cause I wouldn't be able to explain it. Hell, you wouldn't be able to understand. But I laughed. I laughed. And I laughed some more….just to change things up a bit.


End file.
